


If We Were A Feeling

by withoutwords



Category: Plan B (2009)
Genre: Existential I guess, Idealistic, M/M, romantic, some strong language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:48:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So it went on, like any love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If We Were A Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> I just love this film, in more ways than I can recount, and after a recent re-watch I felt like putting my rambling thoughts into a ficlet.

So it went on, like any love story. Pablo was ready to fuck Bruno, but struggled still with forgiving him. _Tell me_ , he kept saying, _tell me everything, what you meant and why it changed, tell me about the plan_. He kept asking until he was hoarse with it, until Bruno said the words into his skin,

 _I was jealous when I fucked her, because she had let you too_ ,

Then,

 _I was crazy when I fucked her because I thought about you, and how deep you’d gone and which parts you’d touched and maybe if I held my mouth there I could taste you too_.

Pablo had thought about men, before, but Bruno had just thought about Pablo. Fixated first on the idea of _Laura’s boyfriend_ and then transfixed instead on Pablo. He wanted Laura back because it was easy, he wanted Pablo because it didn’t make sense. Neverland. You can go there but you can’t take purchase, you can’t have it because you don’t know what it is.

*

Sex is awkward for a while, pulling and heaving like animals, almost, like you want to feel it but you’re not sure you can touch it. Bruno used to watch Pablo sleep, the soft planes of his torso and the bulging curve of his cock in his underwear. Thinking, _it’s just a cock, I’ve seen plenty, I have one of my own_. Thinking, _if this plan works will I have to touch it_ , later thinking, _what it would be like, would he get hard for me would he pant for it, plead with my name_. 

Sex is awkward in all the best ways, Pablo’s head thrown back and his mouth open and torn in two with Bruno’s dick and torn again wondering if this is amazing, if this is right, and _why, why did it hurt so much and still, still feel so good_. Bruno had laboured sweetly over the preparation, but in action he was selfish; pounding into him and clawing at him and so desperate to meet Pablo at the finish.

Sex was catching breaths and clinging on and laughing into the quiet. Laughing as if they’d watched an apple fall or seen the flickering light; laughing with discovery and creation.

*

They were Bruno and Pablo, and their naked skin and quiet stories and darkness. Bruno and Pablo and the hazy gleam of television or the hiss of the kettle or the bubble of dinner, quiet. Bruno and Pablo and nothing else: they worked that out, at least worked on it every day. It was working everything else in; their friends, and how to be with them, their family and who they should be.

Pablo said, _if I don’t hold your hand do they still know I love you_ ,

and Bruno asked, _if you kiss me goodbye will they change_ ,

and how do you tell people that this isn’t your boyfriend, and maybe it’s your soul mate. And if you look past the hard curve of muscle and the hanging weight of his dick you can see that person. The one that buys a shovel and bucket and digs in my heart to fill it up. The one who hears how I tricked and schemed, played with fate, and who still kneels at my feet.

The one who keeps my photo, covets, but takes so little for himself.

The one who says, _okay_ , when I say, _if you were a_ , 

*

Work finds Bruno, labour that strains at his muscles and sweats at his brow; long days that weigh on Pablo. He works until his hands are stiff with it, and his pockets full with it, and buys them a few tickets to anywhere, tells Pablo to pack his camera.

They dance in the streets, in the clubs, smoke with old men and hear stories. They eat real food until they’re bursting, fuck until they’re sleeping and buy new things, and buy them for each other. They laugh with their own memories, with their childhood and how it felt like this; unreal and untouchable, a grand idea.

 _This here_ , Pablo liked to tell him, _and see over here_ , and Bruno liked this best, Pablo and his wonderment, Pablo being Bruno and taking the world in, seeping through his skin. _You photographers_ , Bruno would tease, but he would always want to see the photos, touch his fingers along the architecture, exist in that moment.

 _You photographer lovers_ , Pablo would grin, and his hair would fall in his face to hide the promise in his eyes. Later.

*

Bruno fills boxes with his life; with his shirts and photo frames and the photos Pablo took of him. A few boxes, things wrapped in newspaper, things broken but sentimental. Dry food, noodles, sweet biscuits that Pablo pulls faces at and bedding. Bedsheets that are stretched, quilts that are torn, cloths that he uses to clean shelves, clean walls, clean spunk off his belly when Pablo falls apart beneath him.

 _We can_ , Pablo goes to say, and he probably meant, think longer about this, but Bruno’s thought long enough. Thirty years of wanting a warm body to press against, and now he has a whole being to crawl into, the key and the lock. 

He’ll do that at Pablo’s house or on the street, anywhere, he’d give up anything, and he’s not romantic.

Pablo scoffs, _you are the most romantic_ , but Bruno pushes him onto the bed, face down, and fucks into him from behind and it’s the first time they’re doing it in _their_ house and he folds his fingers into Pablo’s and he plays at Pablo’s left hand and wonders how they would look gleaming in silver.

* 

_If your first plan worked_ , Pablo would say,

 _If it worked_ , Bruno said, _then we would meet some other way, a normal way, and we would fall in love_.

 _And if Plan B had worked_ , Pablo would ask, and,

 _It did,_ Bruno reminded him.


End file.
